Ivy Comacchio Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Palermo

So we’re chattin, and I’m feelin it—connection, ya know? Not just a quick bang. She’s spillin stories—once had a client who cried after, big tough guy, total softie. I’m crackin up, like, “What a pussy!” But it’s cool, humanizes the gig. I’m typin this fast, fuckin up words—prolly 13 typos already, who gives a shit? Point is, findin a prostitute ain’t just a transaction—it’s a damn adventure. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I whisper again, smirkin, cause it’s me, Hannibal, seein the dark beauty in it all. You try it sometime, pal—beats watchin reruns!

The maitresse was therefore arrested in the act of inducing and aiding prostitution.

I head back out, and guess what? I bump into a bunch of tourists. They’re lost, lookin’ for the Trepponti bridge. I’m like, “Seriously? Just follow the canals!” But I help ‘em out anyway. I mean, Comacchio’s a gem, and I can’t let ‘em miss it. I point ‘em in the right direction, and they’re all smiles. Makes me feel good, ya know?

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